


Friendly Neighborhood Intern

by friendlyneighborhoodsecretary



Series: "Told You He's A Good Kid" [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: For the most part, Gen, General Friendship and Fluff, Happy Hogan Has A Heart, Light Angst to Follow, Peter Parker's Good at Making Friends, Will Eventually Include Some Canon-Typical Violence and Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighborhoodsecretary/pseuds/friendlyneighborhoodsecretary
Summary: Peter Parker has always been all about looking out for the little guy. And while Happy Hogan isn't little in the literal sense, he's no exception.





	1. Senses

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic does stand on its own, it's meant as a companion piece for the first work in the series, which focuses on the ways Happy looks after Peter. This is the reversal of that, in which Peter returns the favor as often as he can because he's just a sweetheart like that. Thanks for reading!

"One in the tree, one under the footbridge, and two more down the block."

Peter's voice was a bit muffled by the mask, but it was still plenty clear enough for Happy to make out, even from his spot six feet beneath the top of light post Spider-Man was perched on.

"That all?" It was a surprisingly light day, then. The park— _any_ of the parks within a reasonable radius of the New York penthouse, actually—were usually crawling with cameras and the vultures that operated them by this time of the morning. Still, Happy could be grateful for the little things. The fewer cameras there were, the easier it was to scout out peaceful routes for Pepper's—and occasionally Tony's, when she could cajole him into joining her—morning run.

"That's all I'm seeing," Peter said with a shrug, the lenses over his eyes narrowing as he scanned the network of footpaths visible from his vantage point again just to be sure. Happy knew there was more to it than just seeing—the kid had explained once, the first time he pointed out a cluster of particularly sneaky paparazzi at one of the networking mixers Tony had dragged him to for the official portion of his internship. There were heartbeats to pick out in places they shouldn't be (cloistered under a hors d’oeuvres table, crouched behind a screen of shrubbery, hidden beneath a parked car), suspicious shadows that unenhanced eyes like Happy's wouldn't notice, and the unexplainable tremors of his "spider-sense." Once Happy had picked his jaw up off his chest, he'd promptly stolen the kid from a slightly put-out Tony long enough to walk him around the hotel ballroom's perimeter. Peter, who was about as fond of the interminable handshakes and professional smiles as Happy was, grinned right along with him through the discovery and ejection of another three uninvited members of the press. "Yeah, just those four."

Happy gave a satisfied nod. Good. It wouldn't be difficult to find a clear route around so few. He had a good ten minutes before Pepper headed this direction. Plenty of time, although he had the feeling he needed to get going sooner rather than later. They were starting to attract attention from the smattering of early morning bikers and coffee cart vendors. Not that that was surprising for a casual chat between a man in a golf cart and a costumed superhero.

"Good," Happy rested one hand on the steering wheel and lifted the other in salute. "Thanks, kid."

"No worries, man!" Peter rocked back on his haunches, lifting a hand in preparation to swing away to whatever caught his attention next. He stayed busy this time of year, when school was out and there was little to keep him from bouncing around the city in the golden post-dawn hours and venturing past the borders of his own neighborhood to end up wherever his sense of adventure took him. Happy knew that much from the extra-long and extra giddy patrol reports that appeared in his voicemail every few nights. It was fairly obvious from the occasional glimpses he caught of the kid in passing, too, whether it was a Tarzan yell and a flash of red and blue overhead while Happy was out running errands (“managing assets,” according to the job title on his checks) or a semi-intentional meeting like this one. Granted, the first time the kid had spotted him trawling the park for trouble and cheerfully offered his super-sensory help, it had been a chance meeting. Now, it was almost a routine. Peter showed up atop nearby lamp-posts or hanging upside down from tree limbs at least once a week; Happy couldn’t say he minded.

Peter paused, cocking his head to one side.

"Kid?" Happy paused with his foot hovering over the gas pedal. So far, during the few times they'd crossed paths like this, the kid had never spotted any actual threats. Still, there was a first time for everything.

Peter let out a snicker. Not a frown or a warning or any sort of concern, but a _snicker._ Happy raised a brow at him.

" _Spider-Man."_

"So, ah...the dude under the footbridge? He just moved enough for me to actually see him, and that's totally Burt."

Happy let out a growl. Burt. Of course it was Burt. He revved the engine—as much as a puny golf cart engine could rev—and wheeled the cart around to speed off in the menace's direction. At this point, he was pretty sure he’d chased that man out of every Stark event and away from every private moment either one of his bosses had asked for since 2008.

"Run for your life, Burt!" Peter hollered, cackling faintly over the thwip and snap of a web shooting out into space. Happy glared at him in the split second before he was out of view, but found that he couldn't quite maintain the glower. He shook his head as he sped down the foot path in pursuit of the most persistent photographer in New York. His mornings were never dull...but they were a little easier these days than they used to be. And maybe—just a noncommittal _maybe_ , if anyone asked—a little bit more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know how many of you have seen that deleted scene from Infinity War with Tony, Pepper, and Happy, but this stems directly from that because that scene is HILARIOUS to me. I want a full Disney+ series of Happy and Burt's history.


	2. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a bit of a struggle deciding which fic this chapter actually belonged in since both parties do a lot of fussing about each other. In the end, though, I decided to keep it here since this is where it originally fell in the outline. Happy (no pun intended) reading!

There were plenty of things in Peter's daily routine that could kill him dead, but he was pretty sure the New York winter was going to do it first. He had been warm enough nestled in the backseat of Happy's car. Sneaking glances at the gray drizzle on the other side of the window had made him start shivering all over again despite the layers of thermals and sweaters he wrapped up in every day from October to March, but it hadn’t really been able to touch him at the time.

Now, on the other hand, as he stood knee-deep in a snowbank with particles of sleet biting at his cheeks and the frigid air catching in his lungs, it felt like the weather was going to be the death of him. Either that, or Happy would be, given the way he was sputtering warnings and “don’t even think about it!”s as he floundered through the same snowbank to join Peter at the back of the Audi that was firmly entrenched up to its wheel wells.

“Happy, it’s cool—I got this,” Peter flapped a dismissive hand at the older man and flashed a tight-lipped (by necessity, if he didn’t want his teeth to chatter too loudly) grin. Happy scowled in reply, just as he had been ever since the car had careened down this slope to bury itself in the snow. There had been a lot of swearing at first, too, when that deer bounded into the road in front of them and sent the car spinning off its trajectory when Happy cranked the wheel to avoid it. Peter tried not to snicker; he supposed that simmering frustration was only natural, given the blow that kind of accident had to be to the pride of a professional driver. “It’s not even that big a car.”

“ _No_. Now, c’mon, get back in the car. I’m not gonna be the one to explain things to Tony when he comes looking for you and finds a popsicle.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Both Tony and Happy had been Not-Fretting ever since a brief brush with hypothermia two months earlier had left him unconscious on a rooftop in Flushing. “Not-Fretting” because while the muttered threats about what Happy would do to him if he forgot his gloves “ _one more time, kid, I swear—”_ and the narrow-eyed looks Tony gave him when he skirted around the topic of exactly how much time he spent on patrol when the temperature dipped below freezing did definitely count as fretting, both of them insisted it didn’t. It would've been hilarious if it wasn't so exasperating. Sure, his thermoregulation wasn’t that great after the addition of all that spider DNA, but it didn’t mean he was _totally_ helpless.

“Oh, yeah? You gonna push the car back on the road by yourself?” Peter arched a brow, and slapped the trunk with a hollow metallic thud. “Because if you don’t and I don’t, we’re gonna have to wait for a tow truck—or for Tony—and that could take hours and then we’ll _both_ be popsicles.”

The snark earned him an unimpressed glower and a huff, but Happy didn’t argue the point. With their car stuck at the bottom of the steep incline that sloped down from the road, there really weren’t many good options. It could’ve been worse, Peter supposed. They hadn’t ended up wrapped around a tree or submerged in a half-frozen lake, and the car would still be drivable once they got it back on the actual road…but it still left them in a scrape that wasn’t easily fixed without super strength.

The roads between the city and the compound narrowed a bit more with each passing mile, from bustling highway to deserted country two-lanes to a discreet gravel drive. Peter guessed there was a chance that Happy could call someone from the compound to come collect them in a different car...but it was a slim one, given how intentionally empty the place tended to be on the nights Tony scheduled their internship time. Usually, Peter appreciated that. The fewer people that knew he spent any time at the Avengers compound, the better. Today, though, it just complicated things. Especially since—being so far from the “bustling” part of the trip—it would take an outside tow truck at least an hour or two to wind down these stupid country roads after them in weather like this.

Still, there was one distinct advantage to wrecking the car on such a lonely stretch of road…If no one was around, no one could see what Peter was about to do. He notched his fingers under the bumper, planted his feet as solidly as he could in the slush, and gave the car an experimental nudge. It was harder than he’d expected, with his hands beginning to go numb in the cold and the sleet stinging his face as he heaved, but he could feel the tires beginning to shift. He could work with that.

“Look, you don’t have to do that—” Happy’s voice teetered between commanding and concerned. “—I got an emergency blanket in the trunk. We can call Tony, wait it out—don’t overdo it, kid.”

“Happy, I _got_ it.” Peter gritted his teeth. Tony was great, really, but what was the point of being a superhero if you spent all your time letting someone else do the heavy lifting? Peter was the one who was actually here, so he could handle this one mundane little task. And really, what could Iron Man do about a bogged down Audi that Spider-Man couldn’t?

Once the Audi began to roll, Peter chased the momentum, slipping and sliding as he forced it up the hill, but making progress all the same. Happy hovered a few anxious feet behind, but began to shuffle forward as if to pitch in. Peter desperately hoped he didn't. This kind of thing was a lot easier when he didn't have to worry about the car rolling over anyone but himself if he lost his grip.

Peter threw his weight against the frame and shoved, rolling the car over the crest of the hill with a final groan that might've come from the car's abused frame, but also might have just been him. He scrambled over the median to nudge the car a few more feet into the road, but only committed one hand to the effort. That was all he really needed now that they were on flat ground again, and his hands were _so cold…_ As soon as they were free, he buried both hands deep in his coat pockets and shuddered as he turned back to the slope to check on Happy.

“You doing okay?” Peter balanced on the edge of the pavement and hunched his shoulders against the wind whistling through the trees to buffet his back. The other man was chugging up the hill in Peter's wake, huffing and puffing his way forward in careful little steps. Any other time, Peter would have laughed at how out of place his sharp suit and dress coat looked against the backdrop of trees and brush, but he had the feeling Happy wouldn’t appreciate it just now.

“Peachy. Let’s just get out of here before—” Happy cut off with a yell as he crossed a tire-flattened patch of snow, his feet shooting out from under him and sending him back down the hill on his rear.

“Happy!” Peter gaped for an instant before he skidded back down the slope on his heels. He dropped to a crouch next to Happy, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. Technically, Happy was meant to be looking after _him,_ but Peter had always felt like looking after each other was only fair. And he had the distinct feeling that Tony wouldn’t appreciate it if Peter let Happy break his neck on the side of the road on his watch. “Are you okay, man? That didn’t look fun—anything broken?”

“I’m _fine;_ don’t make a thing out of it.” Happy sat up, batting Peter’s hands away before he could check for broken bones, but accepting the arm extended to pull him back to his feet. Peter snorted as he towed him the rest of the way up to the road.

“That’s hypocritical.”

“Don’t get smart.” Happy retorted, but with no heat behind the growl. To Peter’s surprise, he didn't let go of Peter's arm when he'd been escorted back to the roadside, instead clamping a hand on each of Peter's shoulders and steering him firmly toward the car. "Now come on, that's enough heroics for one day—you're turning blue."

"Psh. You're seein' things, Happy," Peter grinned as he let himself be bundled into the back seat. An only _slightly_ manic giggle slipped out as he realized his teeth were chattering too hard to hide now. ”Everybody knows Spider-Man’s _red_ and blue.”

"You know, you might stay warmer if you kept some of that hot air _in_ rather than out." Happy grumbled from the other side of the window, rounding the car to rustle around in the truck before returning with a blanket that hadn’t seen the light of day in a solid ten years and tossing it in the general direction of Peter's face. "Put that around you and sit in front of the vent 'til we get there."

He paused long enough to look Peter over from his snow-crusted sneakers to the melting snowflakes in his hair, brows knitting in a gruff sort of sympathy. Peter smothered a chortle in his throat. There was the Not-Fretting. _Again._ Even when he was probably almost as cold as Peter was by now. "You okay? Besides the thermowhatever?"

“I should probably be asking you that.” Peter cocked a brow at him. "Plus, you've literally seen me fly a plane with my bare hands—"

"No, I've seen _footage_ of that. It's not as weird as seeing your scrawny arms do that in person."

"—I think I can handle one car. Seriously, it's not even a _big_ car!"

"Peter!" Happy raised his voice just enough to talk over Peter's affronted chatter. “Are. You. Good?”

"Yes! I just said I was!"

"Good." The door slammed in his face, and Peter sighed in relief at the absence of the bitter wind. Happy brushed the snow from his body and dropped into the front seat to fire up the engine, grumbling under his breath about the things he had to put up with. Peter snickered, but relaxed into his blanket cocoon as the first tepid waves of air from the heater began to wash over him.

He held his tongue as a snarky comment about what _he_ put up with welled up in the back of his throat. Bickering was always fun, but he didn't quite have the hot air to spare just now. He burrowed deeper in the musty folds of the blanket and sank into the corner of the seat. The cold seemed to have seeped into his bones, leaving him sluggish and drowsy and quite content to doze the rest of the way to the compound. Maybe for an hour or so once he got there, too, come to think of it...He caught Happy shooting him a concerned look in the rearview mirror and flashed a lopsided smile.

“Shouldn’t you be keeping your eyes on the road? I mean, we just saw how crazy these country roads get…” Peter broke off to yawn. “Makes me glad to be a city person.”

Happy rolled his eyes and turned back to the road, his lips twitching ever so faintly upwards. Peter barely caught Happy's voice as he began to drift off

"Nice job, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for the kind kudos and comments! You're the best! I'm leaving for vacation at the end of this week, so I'm not sure when I'll get to update next, but hopefully it will be sooner rather than later. As always, thanks so much for reading!


	3. Smarts

Despite working for the biggest tech billionaire in the country, Happy wasn't afraid to say he missed flip phones. And Blackberries and even those hefty Nokia bricks that could (and had, on one memorable occasion during his early bodyguarding days) double as deadly weapons in a pinch. Honestly, he just missed having anything with real buttons that could be pushed or punched or jabbed and which actually seemed to _do_ something when the device itself locked up like the one in his hand had. He scowled, gripping the smartphone tighter as he tapped incessantly at the unresponsive screen and muttering faintly under his breath. He had things to do: calls to make for the security he was coordinating for Pepper’s next charity event, texts about said event to fire off to Pepper, memos to email to the rest of the department—this was no time for misbehaving technology. And yet...

He half-heartedly thumped the case against the arm of the chair out of spite, but the screen remained stubbornly frozen. If it continued, he supposed he would have to break down and take it to one of the IT people. Or, more likely, to Tony, since the man was ensconced in the lab a floor below him at the moment. It wouldn’t be the first time Happy had shoved a malfunctioning phone or tablet at his boss with the demand to fix it so he could “actually do the job you pay me for!” And Tony, despite his dramatics about how anyone who worked for him could be so unironically horrible with anything that ran on microchips and code, never seemed to mind. If anything, taking a few minutes to poke around a simple problem and grouse at Happy often proved to be a welcome distraction from whatever world-shaping problem he was working on or vital business meeting he was avoiding. Today, however, Happy hated to bother him. It was a lab day: a few precious hours staked out for Tony and Peter to tinker in the compound’s labs. Happy did his best not to interrupt those.

"So, what did that phone ever do to you?"

Happy let out a yelp and a swear, coming out of his chair and to his feet in one startled leap and tossing his phone like a missile on pure instinct. There was a snicker overhead, and he craned his head up to find Peter reclining on the ceiling, the phone he’d evidently caught in hand and a faintly ornery grin on his face. Happy frowned more deeply and contemplated looking for something else to throw.

" _Don't do that!_ Get down! How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Sorry." The grin was still firmly in place as Peter dropped lightly to his feet and ducked easily away from the swat Happy aimed at the back of his head.

"You keep doing that, you're gonna give me a heart attack sometime." Happy shook a finger in Peter's direction as he dropped back into his chair and watched Peter hop up to perch on the back of the nearby couch. The kid never could just sit properly...It made Happy tired just looking at it. "Where's Tony?"

"Still downstairs." Peter flapped a hand at the stairwell leading down to the compound's lab. "He got a phone call from Col. Rhodes that couldn't wait, so he said to come bug you for a while."

Happy snorted. "And you gotta pick now to start doing what he tells you?"

Peter smirked, the mischief his face seeming eerily familiar in the split second it lingered. He shrugged and turned his attention to Happy's phone, still nestled in Peter's palm.

"So... phone troubles?"

"It's not a phone, it's a paperweight," Happy grumbled. "Stupid thing's been getting slower and slower every day."

Peter hummed in distracted acknowledgement and began fiddling with the phone, casually pulling apart the pieces and slapping them back together to reboot the device. A few moments ticked by in companionable silence while Happy looked on, unsure whether to be anxious or relieved about the fate of his phone. It was always strange to see Peter this quiet, but the focus written on his face was a sight to behold. It always gave Happy a start to see him like this, focused and competent as he worked with deft fingers and sharp eyes. It didn't happen often, with Peter's puppy dog energy and excitement bubbling over nearly 24/7, but something about it always made Happy pause. He never voice it, but there was a hunch in the back of his mind that this sort of thing was just a glimpse into some distant future, where Peter Parker wouldn't be the kid twiddling his thumbs, but the man doing the world-shaping in the lab. It was, after all, the same bright spark Happy had been seeing on another face for the past decade or so.

Peter frowned after a moment, then looked askance at Happy. "Dude. You don't even have a password on here?"

"I know, I know—don't you start." Tony gave him enough trouble about his tech illiteracy as it was. The password thing was an old argument. He’d fix it eventually, but for now, he was holding out on principle. "You find the problem yet?"

"Yeah, your memory's low—that always screws up everything." Peter wrinkled his nose at the screen and tsked. "Do you ever delete any of your text messages? There's like a million of 'em on here."

"I delete plenty, but _certain people_ just keep piling them on," Happy retorted with a pointed stare that prompted a faintly sheepish smile from Peter.

"Well, I could stop again..."

" _No_. How am I supposed to keep an eye on you if I don't know what you're up to?" Happy shook his head at the endless contradiction that was his job. Truth be told, it worried him more when his inbox wasn't overflowing with texts and voicemails, particularly the ones from Peter. And really, they weren't so bad these days...Snippets of chatter about churros and lost kittens and runaway foodcarts made for lighthearted little breaks from the monotony of security meeting minutes and department memos. And, given the way things had gone the last time Peter had gone radio silent for any length of time, Happy’s mind was much at ease when he knew the kid wasn’t crashing planes into beaches. "No, you can keep talking my ear off, but—" He pointed for emphasis. "You gotta fix the stupid phone when you go and clog it up with all your emojis."

Peter scoffed, an affronted frown furrowing his brow as he tapped a few final keys and tossed the phone across to Happy. "Hey, man, I am very moderate in my emoji use for a Gen Z. Seriously. You should see Ned's messages sometime, it's like a solid wall of—"

"Yeah, yeah—you're the ideal of your generation. You gonna help me keep this thing running or not?"

"Why don't you ask Mr. Stark?" Reasonable question. The phone did have Tony's company logo on the back, after all.

"He's too smug about it. Drives me up the wall." That was only half-true, but Peter really was only moderately smug, perhaps to go along with his moderate emoji usage. Happy could live with that. Plus, giving him something to do while he wasn’t immersed in his and Tony’s latest project would likely keep him out of trouble while he was here, much like keeping Tony busy kept him sane. Hopefully, it would at least cut down on the footprints on the ceiling. Happy watched as Peter drummed his heels against the side of the couch, already bored without something to keep that boundless energy busy, and fought the urge to laugh. It really was Tony all over again. "You good being tech support?"

"Sure! Any time!"

"Good," Happy felt a smile that could be described as somewhere between approving and fond creeping onto his face and quelled it with a quick clearing of his throat. "In that case, you wanna take a look at this tablet while you wait for Tony? It’s been slow, too, and I can’t blame that one on you."

"Gimme." Peter cracked his knuckles and grinned with a satisfied gleam in his eyes that suggested Happy hadn't quite been fast enough with the quelling. It really was a problem for a man whose professional demeanor depended on being stony and stern. Still, Happy had the feeling it was a little too late to worry about that. "Friendly neighborhood intern, at your service!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This type of action and angst is a little outside of my fanfic box, so this is a bit of an experiment, but I had fun (?) anyway.

One moment, the day was routine. Peter was balanced on the hood of the car, drumming his heels against the nearest tire and laughing at Happy’s grumbles about the parking situation. Tony was still inside the building, finishing up the last of a round of meetings while Happy peeled off to bring the car around. The only reason he’d taken Peter with him was to give the kid some air after a full morning cooped up with the tedious part of his internship. There had been nothing out of order. Not a single blip on Happy’s radar until Tony breezed through the glass doors, smiling the triumphant smile of a man finally freed from the least favorite part of his job while Peter stiffened as if something else entirely was looming on the horizon. His eyes went sharp and his muscles bunched as he swiveled to scan the surrounding street. Happy frowned, got as far as opening his mouth to ask why the kid’s face was doing that, and was cut off.

A distant crack echoed off the glass of the building above them, and something bit into the concrete at Happy's feet, kicking up a powdery cloud of dust. A second and third rifle report rattled the air in quick succession, coming faster and faster with each shot. Happy reached blindly for the kid with one hand, the other clenching reflexively as he turned to look for Tony. He could already hear the distinctive pulse and whir of the nano-suit sliding into place, but it was still a habit to make sure he was okay as someone _could_ be while playing superhero. He started to look back to the kid, still scrabbling for a good grip on Peter's shoulder to pull them both out of the line of fire, but something plowed into his chest with the force of an elephant. The world tilted and he found himself sprawled on the sidewalk behind the car. His ears rang with the force of the fall and his chest burned from the wind that had been knocked out of him. It wasn’t until a warm, solid weight rolled off his chest that he realized it was Peter rather than a bullet that had slammed him into the pavement. Thank heaven for small mercies, he supposed.

The kid rolled his feet less gracefully than usual, staggering a little as he craned upwards to watch Tony blast towards the opposite rooftop. Every line of his body said he desperately wanted to be running into that fight, too, and would have been if he wasn't wearing a suit and tie instead of spandex, but...something else about his posture said that might not be the only reason. Happy narrowed his eyes and made a mental note to sit the kid down with a med kit once they were no longer in some idiot’s crosshairs. Something didn’t look right, but for now, Happy could only worry about one crisis at a time.

Peter stared at the skyline where Iron Man had disappeared for half a second longer, as if to reassure himself that Tony really would be fine against one person with a gun, before turning back to Happy with concerned eyes.

"Hey, you okay, man? Sorry—" He gulped in a slightly wheezy breath. "—I really didn't mean to tackle you that hard. Do you need anything? Should I get someone?"

He took a step back towards Happy with arms outstretched to help him up, but he wobbled. Happy struggled to his knees alone, his eyes narrowing as he watched the kid pause and take stock. Peter cocked his head and looked down, brushing his suit coat aside enough to peek at his torso.

"Oh. Huh. Didn't even feel that one." Happy's pulse seized as he caught sight of it, too. Peter pressed a hand to the red blotch blooming across his ribs and pulled it back to inspect his bloody fingers with a bemused sort of disbelief. He breathed out a softly shocked "...weird" before his knees gave out and he crumpled.

“Kid!” Happy lunged across the distance between them and tugged Peter the behind the relative shelter of the car. The gunfire from overhead had tapered off, but Happy would take no chances on any further perforations. Not with the ones already staring him in the face. Three neat little holes drilled through the front of the kid's shirt, the rips in the fabric nearly lost in a rapidly growing sea of red. Happy swore under his breath. Tony was going to kill him. _May_ was going to kill him. Hell, if he lost the literal _child_ blinking up at him from the concrete, he might do the job himself.

Happy tore off his jacket and balled it up as a makeshift pressure bandage, swearing more colorfully by the second as he worked. Peter didn't protest, his face growing paler, but his hands still much steadier than Happy's when he obeyed the barked orders to hug the fabric to the wounds as hard as he could while Happy reached for the car's first-aid kit. It felt a little pointless throwing the puny contents of a lunchbox-sized first aid kit at a trio of bullet wounds, but Happy tried until the flood of red overwhelmed them. Peter was rapidly turning white in Happy's arms, where he had ended up when he was no longer strong enough to help hold the bandages. It took another five minutes for Tony to return from wrapping up the sniper whose motives Happy didn’t have time to ask about. Another ten to fly Peter to the appropriate medical attention. An eternity for Happy's hands to stop shaking.

*

Happy sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He couldn't look at the kid whose blood was caked under his fingernails, all pale and quiet and still under the mass of wires and tubes that linked him to the machines around the bedside, but he couldn't bring himself to flee to the waiting room where Tony was explaining the situation to a recently arrived May Parker, either. This was all on him. A security failure that had led to a teenager taking not one bullet, but three for the _head of security_ before said head of security could even blink. He'd made mistakes before—Happy had no illusions about that—but this...this was the mistake to end all mistakes. And somehow, Peter Parker was the one who had to pay for it. The kid might be able to hoist a car over his head with his bare hands or hold a splintering boat together with pure grit, but blood loss was blood loss. All Happy had to show for the ordeal was a bruise the shape of Peter’s shoulder branded into his chest, but Peter had nearly bled out in Tony’s arms during the race to the quickly assembled medical team. Happy's breath kept catching in his chest when he thought of it, but it didn't feel like a result of the ache from the blow to his sternum. Or perhaps it was, indirectly.

There was a cough and a faint rasp. "Did somebody step on your sunglasses again?"

Happy shifted to find Peter staring at him, one corner of his mouth quirked up despite the tubes threaded up his nose and the IVs jammed into his arms. "'Cause you look like somebody died and last time you looked like this, it was 'cause of that."

Happy let out a strangled snort and studied the boy in front of him for a moment. He didn't find a trace of resentment on Peter's face or a hint of accusation in his eyes, even though they had every right to be there. His face was as open and friendly as it always was, if perhaps a little less wide-eyed due to the high-caliber drugs pumping through his veins.

"Is everybody okay?" Peter persisted when Happy didn't answer, his faint smile tipping down a notch at the hesitation.

"You're not," Happy managed, finally untangling his tongue enough for a gruff answer. "Seeing as how you got yourself shot. What were you thinking, Peter?"

Peter's bleary eyes widened a fraction. While communication with Happy had long since evolved from "hey, you!," it still relied heavily on "kid" and "kiddo" and "Parker." Not out of any real dislike, but out of habit born over what seemed like a million long hours on the road and a million pointless conversations spun to fill them. With all that time spent thrown together, Happy could honestly say he knew the kid—knew _Peter_ —better than a lot of people he’d known much longer and liked him a whole lot better than most of those same people. And he still never would’ve dreamed that the kid would do this.

"I could feel it coming," Peter said. "It's...hard to explain what it feels like, but with my...uh...my senses, I just kind of know what needs to happen to stay safe if something's going down. I mean, not like intellectually, but instinctively. And I could feel that if I didn't knock you out of the way, it was gonna be really bad." He lifted the hand not tethered down by IVs to skim a hand over the patch of raised fabric beneath his hospital gown that clearly hid the wound. "I was right, too. 'Cause with the angle they went into me and the angle I hit _you_ at, if any of 'em had actually hit you..."

An unfamiliar shadow passed through Peter's eyes before he swallowed and shook it away. Happy nodded silently. Tony had taken on the same stricken look while the two of them were slouching miserably in the plastic chairs outside the compound's surgical suite. He suspected Tony had been spiraling over the idea that _both_ Happy and Peter could've been cut down on the sidewalk, but he'd grabbed Happy's shoulder in a crushing grip and squeezed anyway. His voice had been strained when he joked about how Happy needed to step up his duck and cover game or they'd have to move him to a desk job just to keep him in one piece. Happy caught his hand with a retort about how that was a moot point unless all three of them moved to desk duty and squeezed back. He went where Tony went. Tony hadn't seemed to mind the idea, but Happy knew it would never happen. Not when he spent all his time around self-sacrificing idiots like the one in front of him.

"Anyway. I'm objectively better at taking a bullet. And If it's a choice between me and you—or Mr. Stark or May or Ms. Potts or whoever—" Peter paused and was, for a moment, not just Peter. He pursed his lips, a glint of the steel that kept him upright under the pressure of loss and pain and fights he was much too young for flaring in his eyes. "—it has to be me."

"No, it doesn't," Happy insisted. "That's not your job, that's...that's bodyguard stuff, not friendly neighborhood Spider-Man stuff. How are you gonna keep protecting your block if you get shot up doing _my_ job for me?" He let his voice soften a notch. "If I get hurt, so be it. It's what I signed up for. And I don't want anybody else getting knocked around for trying to keep me in one piece."

"New York's my neighborhood, and you're definitely part of it, so I'm pretty sure my jurisdiction beats yours."

"Look, kid, if something—something _permanent_ —happened to you on my watch, Tony and May would never forgive me." He swallowed another sentence about how _he_ would feel and let his gaze drift back to the red crust beneath his nails. "Don't put me in that spot. Please. Promise me you're not gonna do that if this kind of thing ever comes up again."

To make the request sound less like the frantic plea it was, Happy glowered as fiercely as he knew how. It was the stare that made interns cry and difficult reporters scurry like rats, but it no longer had any apparent effect on Peter Parker, who smiled a tired half-smile.

"Never gonna happen, Happy."

" _Parker._ "

"Can't make me."

Happy blew out a long breath and stared, the familiar frustration of bickering with a teenager washing over him with comforting normalcy. "Oh, yeah? Maybe I can't make you, but I can play nothing but Beethoven in the car from here on out. And stop by anywhere but Delmar's for dinner. And—"

"You're so _mean_ when you don't get your way," Peter said with a theatrical gasp that promptly made him wince and press a hand to his side. Happy rose, already half-way to the call button before Peter waved him off. "I'm fine...s'just a twinge. Can we just call it even and not, y'know, anticipate any more weirdness before it even happens?"

Happy eyed him with exasperation. As if they didn't both know that more weirdness always happened. That was just the way the world was now. A cold dread settled in the back of his brain when he considered the certainty that Peter, like Tony before him, fully planned to face whatever weirdness came head-on. Still, Happy knew it was a war he would never win, so there was little sense in waging the battle. He lifted his hands in surrender and sighed.

"Fine. You want to be stupid, I can’t stop you. But try not to, anyway. Please."

"Try not to save you when you're in mortal peril...duly noted," Peter deadpanned, looking offended by the very idea. Happy rolled his eyes, only cutting off his own retort when the door opened to admit Tony and May. He ruffled the kid's hair—gently, to keep from jostling anything—as he stood to make room for the others, letting the only openly fond smile he would allow for the year cross his face.

"Exactly. That isn’t asking for much, is it?" Peter made a face, but grudgingly let it fade to an answering smile as Happy turned to slip out into the hall. "Thanks, kid...I really owe you one."

Peter chortled, clearly as amused at the memory of the last place Happy had told him that as Happy had hoped he would be. His reply was lost in the chaos of his aunt descending on him with all the fury of a worried Italian mother and Tony hovering in a fretful orbit between Peter’s side and the vitals monitor. Between the two of them, Peter would be in good hands until he was back on his feet. Granted, he might get smothered in the meantime, but that just what he got for stopping bullets without any armor. Happy steadfastly refused to respond to the "save me" Peter mouthed at him just before he exited. The kid could face _those_ consequences all by his lonesome.

Happy closed the door behind him and stationed himself in front of it, filling the doorway like a boulder. It wasn't as if there would be much to protect his charges from here in the relative security of the compound, but something about standing watch soothed Happy's ragged nerves anyway. The knowledge that if anything else came at them today, it would have to go through him first made everything feel just a little bit more normal. He’d been off-balance ever since Peter had tackled him, but this was the first step back to setting things right. The kid had stepped in to look after him when he wasn't able...and now Happy would return the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) If Happy's the kind of guy who watches Downton Abbey because he thinks it's elegant, I'd wager he's the kind of guy who occasionally listens to Beethoven for the same reason. And 2) I know Peter got hit by a train and walked it off, but blood loss is a vicious thing.


	5. Spandex

There was smoke in Happy’s eyes, about a hundred people in his way, and a rising urge to strangle Peter Parker simmering in his chest.

The building’s fire alarms had blared to life ten minutes earlier, a muted boom and an ominous rattle of the windows cutting their expedition to Pepper’s office for updated internship paperwork short and sending Happy into overdrive as he rushed to make sure the proper evacuation protocols were in effect. It was a tall order, given the size of the main Stark Industries campus and the sheer volume of people who inhabited it on a daily basis. The annual emergency response drills never failed to give Happy a headache; he was quickly discovering that the real thing was no better. And somewhere amid the shuffle of snapping orders at the security staff and firing off emergency alert texts to Pepper and Tony respectively and verifying that Pepper got herself out safely _and_ hollering at the morons who evidently didn’t know how to exit a burning building (“The stairs! Use the _stairs_ , not the elevator!”), the kid—who had been perfectly content to trail along at Happy’s elbow the entire rest of the day—had just…vanished.

Happy let out a growl as he stomped outside under a cloud of ash and smoke, waving the stream of panicky employees at his back on towards the safe perimeter of the street beyond. He _knew_ what the kid was up to. He’d bet his life there was a pile of clothes abandoned in some dark corner, left behind when Peter shifted to Spider-Man and flitted off for a closer look at whatever had happened in the lofty reaches of the R&D section.

On the one hand, Happy was glad _someone_ was looking into it. All he had managed to gather so far was that someone with too many PhDs and too little common sense had miscalculated something sciency in the engineering division four floors above Happy’s office. That part, at least, was just another Tuesday—lab explosions weren’t exactly an unfamiliar scenario at this point in his life, even if they weren’t usually on this grand a scale. The finer details of who had done what had been lost in the chaos of hustling everyone he could out of the building, leaving Happy with bigger fish to fry than the process of sussing out who was to blame or how much damage had been done. His only concern for now was clearing the area before anyone got seared or singed or worse, the kid included.

That was the problem on the other hand…Because no matter how many patrol reports Happy listened to, with the kid’s accounts of hefting stalled school buses or scaling skyscrapers “for the ‘gram” (whatever that meant), no matter how well Happy knew the kid was capable and competent when it counted, there was always the niggling fear that Peter might get in over his head…

Particularly now, when Happy turned back to survey the scene and nearly stumbled over his own dress shoes. The top of the building was a mess of billowing smoke and raining debris, all stemming from the jagged hole carved into its side. A hail of shattered glass pelted the cement a few feet from Happy's shoes, narrowly missing them as he skittered further back into the street. His mouth went dry as he realized that wherever the kid was now, he was headed for _that_. He’d been a little angry before, frustrated that Peter had taken off headlong with no information on what he was diving into (just as he always did) and left Happy to field the inevitable call from Tony about why his kid was venturing into a burning lab that was probably chock-full of toxic hazards or killer robots or whatever the hell those geniuses had dabbled in this week. But this…this was worse than he’d expected. It sent a wave of worry roaring in to overwhelm his aggravation.

Happy glanced down to fish in his pockets for his phone. Perhaps he could still get a phone call through, maybe even call the kid off before he reached the worst of it. If he was lucky, then—The shriek of tearing metal echoed from somewhere above, punctuated by an ominous crack that yanked Happy from his thoughts. The harsh noon sunlight around him disappeared abruptly, blocked by an ominous shadow that widened across the asphalt underfoot with frightening speed. Happy tensed without even taking the time to look up. Nothing that fell that fast could be good, and he wasn’t as quick as he used to be. He threw himself aside despite the premonition that he wasn’t going to be fast enough to outrun it, the sinking feeling in his stomach prompting him to brace himself for a blow that…never came?

"Hey, Happy!" Peter— _Spider-Man_ —was dangling overhead by a delicate strand of webbing wrapped around one fist, a chunk of steel girder snapped from the building’s frame tucked under one arm as if it was no heavier than a textbook. “You okay, man?”

"Spider-Man," Happy panted back, a shocked sort of relief washing over him at the sight of the familiar red and blue. Relief because Peter had just kept Happy from getting squished like a bug and he had eyes on the kid’s location now, and shock because there was something so utterly jarring about seeing the kid he all but babysat on a regular basis carry hundreds of pounds as if it was nothing.

“Everybody okay out here?” Peter leapt sideways to plop the girder down on a clear patch of ground with a thud that rattled the windows again. Happy shot him a look as he tottered to his feet—relieved or not, there had to be a gentler way to do that—and Peter shrugged in response from his momentary perch atop a parked delivery truck. “Sorry, but it was _heavy_!”

“We’re good—are _you_ good?” Happy couldn’t pick out any obvious damage to the suit or to the kid from this distance, so he’d take that as a good sign.

Peter flapped a dismissive hand, muscles already bunching to launch him back up into the fray. “Yeah, I’m great. It’s all good, but I really gotta get back up there. Can you just like…stay out of the way? Please? Mmkaythanksbye!”

“ _No_ , wait, Pe—I mean Spider—” Peter was gone before Happy could sputter at him over the indignity of a teenybopper telling the _head of security_ to stay out of the way, but he wasn’t entirely sure he would have anyway. Peter’s request had come rushing out more like a plea than an order, which suggested that it had more to do with Peter hoping he wouldn’t have to peel Happy off the asphalt the next time he saw him than any illusions of authority on his part. Happy could understand that since he was being gripped by a similar panic.

He found himself cringing inwardly as he watched Peter jump back into securing the scene. In theory, he had known the kid was impressive. Had to be if he could wrangle crashing planes and dodge bullets on a daily basis. But knowing a thing and seeing it up close were two very different animals. Happy didn’t have time for YouTube, where so many clips of the kid ended up, and he didn't pull up the Baby Monitor footage unless he needed something specific ("You _did_ leave the lab door open! What’d I tell you about that?"), so there were limited opportunities to witness Peter in action. Watching him soar overhead, spinning and flipping and sprinting along vertical surfaces with nothing but his unitard-clad feet was...new.

New and _strange,_ since there were times Happy genuinely forgot the kid wasn't normal. After all, Peter spent most of his time in Happy's backseat griping about how pointless his English homework was or gasping over Star Wars trailers he had missed during the school day. He ate as if all the pizza in New York would evaporate if he didn't wolf it down in one sitting and grumbled incessantly about the (rather lenient, in Happy's opinion) curfew that May and Tony had agreed upon. It was the same kind of teenage crap Happy remembered doing, the same crap _everyone_ did, regardless of whether or not they were radioactive. All of it made it that much easier to let the fact that the same kid who snored into his seatbelt when he was out too late was also a genetic marvel just...slip Happy’s mind occasionally.

Easier, at least, when said kid wasn't pulling gymnastic stunts twenty feet over Happy’s head.

Peter flung himself into empty air to head off a bit of flaming masonry, arcing gracefully over a twenty-foot drop. Every move was smooth, confident, as if he’d been born soaring along the skyline like that. It was impressive, sure, but—much like Tony's careless blast-offs in untested suits—it was no good for Happy’s blood pressure. He could feel his pulse stuttering in his chest as he jogged along the street, policing the perimeter and keeping an eye out for the incoming first responders. Peter was doing well, if the sheer volume of webs spattered over the area was any indication. Webs holding up bits of broken architecture, webs netting together salvaged tech, webs lowering rescued civilians to the ground—the kid was thorough, Happy would give him that. His brow creased as he wondered if Peter had packed enough spare web fluid cartridges. He had had a tendency to skimp on those in the beginning, leading to the occasional sheepish call for a ride home from Brooklyn or Midtown when he swung too far for his remaining webs to carry him home. There didn’t seem to be any shortage now, when it really counted, but that didn’t ease the pang of unease in Happy’s gut as Pepper materialized out of the crowd, heels crunching in the gritty rubble as she headed his direction.

Happy would _always_ worry—there was no stopping that, it was a bad habit honed over years of watching after another self-sacrificing idiot—but…perhaps it wasn’t the same sort of intense, guilty worry it once might have been. Peter was a kid, but he was no longer an amateur. With nearly two years of webslinging under his belt, he knew how to handle himself…Probably. Happy watched the kid land neatly back on the sidewalk in an action-ready crouch and felt that knot of concern in his stomach loosen.

Not that long ago, the very idea of watching Spider-Man swing into an emergency Happy was even remotely responsible for handling would’ve driven his blood pressure through the roof no matter how well the kid seemed to be doing, convinced as he was that Peter was just another potential casualty he had to account for. Peter had been and—in some ways—still was his responsibility. His responsibility to keep tabs on, to keep in touch with, and to keep out of trouble. To keep _safe_. And yet here he was now, having fully trusted the kid to keep that hunk of steel from grinding him into the pavement a few minutes earlier and finding himself… _reassured_ to see Peter stepping in to lend a hand. He wasn't sure where along the line the parameters had shifted. Whether the change had actually been in Peter's capability or just in Happy’s own ability to see it. Granted, he might have to remind himself to _keep_ seeing it once this was over and Spider-Man was swapped back out for Peter Parker, but either way, it wasn’t a bad change.

As if he knew he was being watched, Peter paused in wrestling a downed lamp-post away from the building’s side exit, holding it up to clear a path for a broader wave of evacuees. The mask’s lenses crinkled in what was to an expert like Happy clearly a grin. Peter snapped one hand up in a jaunty wave, a clear _I’ve got this_ if ever Happy had seen one. Happy couldn’t the help the brief, faint half-smile that flickered in return. The kid was contagious that way.

“Be careful!” Happy barked before he turned back to Pepper, tacking on a hasty, “Don’t do anything stupid!” as an afterthought.

To anyone else, the words would’ve been lost in the babble of the crowd, but he was sure Peter would catch it. Of course, the odds on whether or not he would pay attention were pretty low, but at least Happy had gotten the words out.

“Is he good?” Pepper craned around him for a better view as Happy pivoted to flag down the firetrucks rolling up the drive. Her phone was out, fingers hovering over the screen to send out a more urgent distress call to Tony if needed.

“Yeah,” Happy didn’t look back. And if there was a hint—only a _hint,_ he’d admit to nothing more—of pride beating out the panic that had swelled in his chest ten minutes earlier, well…the kid had earned it. “He’s got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, that's a wrap on "Friendly Neighborhood Intern!" (At least for now, as I've run through the original prompt list I started from.) Thank you all so, so much for your kind kudos and comments and just for reading my nonsense in the first place! I appreciate you guys more than I can say!
> 
> Feel free to come say hi or to mention any thoughts/prompts/ideas you have at @friendlyneighborhoodsecretary on Tumblr!


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